"Take it easy, Ghan!" Letta half-shouted from behind me, her voice drowned out by the roar of the noisy city traffic.
I chuckled inside my helmet. The Red couldn't be pushed past sixty kilometers per hour unless I wanted its engine vibrating like a minor earthquake. Behind me, Letta casually wrapped her arms around my waist. She was wearing a plain white T-shirt and loose jeans, but the small crossbody bag over her shoulder bore a famous designer logo and cost the equivalent of three times my salary.
A difference we always tried to ignore, but that was always there. Watching us from the corners of our lives.
We arrived at a blue-cart Mie Ayam stall near a red light. It sat on the sidewalk beneath a blue tarp awning that leaked from a few corners whenever it rained. The air smelled richly of chicken broth and scallion oil.
"Two, sir. One without mustard greens, and make the other portion a little bigger for my girlfriend," I told the vendor.
Letta lightly pinched my arm, laughing. "The bigger portion is for you."
We sat on a long plastic bench. Letta took wet wipes from her bag and cleaned the wooden table in front of us, which was a little sticky with traces of soy sauce broth. Then she handed me another wipe to dab the sweat from my forehead. Little touches like that always managed to ease my exhaustion.
"How did things go on campus?" I asked, starting a conversation.
"Fine. But..." Letta let the sentence trail off. She toyed with the straw in her glass of sweet iced tea. "Dad called again while I was on my way to your office."
I waited, knowing that when Letta's voice took on that slightly heavy tone, it usually meant news that wouldn't be easy to hear.
"Dad asked about you," Letta continued softly. She looked straight at me, a hint of worry in her clear eyes. "He wants you to come to our house this Sunday. Family dinner."
My throat suddenly felt dry, even before our chicken noodles arrived.
"Dinner?" I repeated.
Letta nodded. "Dad knows we've been together for more than three years. And... he's the kind of person who wants to know who his daughter spends her time with. You don't have to worry, Ghan. It's just a normal dinner."
Maybe it was normal for Letta. But for the middle child of a family whose house still had a rusted corrugated-metal roof, the invitation felt like a summons to appear before the high court. I imagined myself sitting in her family's luxurious dining room, wearing my best shirt, which would probably look cheap to her dad, trying to answer questions about a future and career path I couldn't even clearly see yet.
"Ghan? If you're not ready, I can tell Dad we'll find another time—"
"No, Let," I cut in quickly, trying to smile as calmly as possible. "It's okay. Sunday night, right? I'll do my best to come."
Before Letta could respond, two bowls of steaming chicken noodles were set down on our table. Steam billowed upward, carrying the savory aroma that usually made my stomach rumble right away. This time, though, my hunger suddenly vanished, replaced by a knot of anxiety slowly sinking into my stomach.
We started eating in a silence that felt slightly different from usual. I tried to focus on the flavor of the noodles, but my mind was busy arranging all the things I would have to say in front of Letta's dad later.
Then my phone on the table vibrated. Not just once. Its screen lit up again and again, displaying a rapid stream of incoming WhatsApp messages from Ghea.
Ghea: "Ghan, where are you?" "Come home now, Ghan. Please." "Gastan brought home a new huge motorcycle, but three big guys have been waiting in front of our alley since this afternoon." "I'm scared. They all look terrifying, and they're asking for Gastan. Mom's crying in her room."
It felt as if my blood had suddenly stopped flowing. I stared at my phone screen, then turned to look at Letta, who was calmly eating her noodles. The contrast between her orderly world and mine, always teetering on the edge of chaos, hit me in an instant.
"Ghan? What's wrong?" Letta asked, noticing the drastic change in my face.
I slowly set down my fork. "Let... I'm really sorry. I have to go home right now."